


What Happens in Penrhyn...

by westminster



Category: Torchwood
Genre: First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, caravan au?, idk i wrote this based on childhood holidays to penrhyn bay, if that makes sense??, it's more of a pre-canon au though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westminster/pseuds/westminster
Summary: Ianto's an author experiencing major writer's block. So he's left his crammed apartment in Cardiff for a quiet caravan on Penrhyn Bay. But nowhere can ever stay quiet when Torchwood turn up.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe reminiscing about my childhood holidays to penrhyn inspired a whole torchwood fanfic but there you go! hope you enjoy

Penrhyn Bay was downright grim this time of year. The beach was barren and the wind bit you with every step you took. The water was too cold to dip your toes in, and the shore was only braved by dog walkers and joggers. The only thing more depressing than the Penrhyn coast was the caravan park, which is exactly why Ianto chose it. When he made his booking online, he imagined himself hunched up over a small desk: scrawled, crazed writing stuck to every inch of the walls, thunder making the caravan rock side to side under his feet. There, Ianto would finally have his breakthrough and his fingers would fly across the keyboard as the rain slammed against the roof. The atmosphere would be like Frankenstein's laboratory, gothic weather fuelling his own writings.

The author in him may have gotten a little too carried away with that image. As he parks his car, a modest Subaru, next to the caravan he's been allocated, he's already planning an early journey home. Instead of the storm he'd been picturing, the weather is just grey and bland. The rain hits the car window indifferently and the dull grey clouds that frame the scene seem to mock Ianto. He's too tired to just turn around and drive home - too frugal as well, but that's something he won't admit. When he gets in, he throws the suitcase into the corner of the bedroom (it's more of a closet than a bedroom) out of anger. But, as he walks back into the kitchen, images of scrunched clothes plague his mind and he has to go back to fix his mistake. Ianto takes his time, trying to calm himself as he meticulously smooths out and hangs up every item. Then it's cheese on toast for dinner and a glum glass of wine before he finally cracks open his laptop. The draft for his novel appears on screen and just the sight of it gives him a headache. The word 'draft' is an understatement - Ianto is staring at a paragraph and a half of exoposition on a word document, which he re-reads and immediately hates, deletes and sighs. Coming here was a mistake, he's decided.

Over the new few hours, he answers a few e-mails, watches bits of a documentary, arranges all the icons on his desktop by colour, all while ignoring the empty document. He ignores an email from his publisher too, and immediately feels guilt about it. Ianto's writing career had took off only recently. He'd been working on minor articles and short stories for indie magazines when by some miracle he garnered a book deal with an established sci-fi franchise. The profit from that is still paying his rent but the expenses are piling up and the advance for an original sci-fi novel was too tempting to turn down. Now his publisher is hungry for the first few chapters, or a plot at least, but Ianto's drawing blanks. 

He's resorted to scrolling endlessly through facebook, even though he hates the thing, staring at pictures of stranger's babies until he hears a flurry of voices outside his door. 

As Ianto rummages around for the key, he catches a female voice: young with a strong Welsh accent. 

"Well, obviously Jack, it's not our bloody caravan if there's a bloke sitting in it!" 

The other man's reply is broken off by Ianto opening the door. The corners of his mouth are upturned into an awkward smile, waiting for the strangers to begin. The man is tall, clean-shaven and that's as far as Ianto gets in his mental description of him because the man grins: his teeth are so white and his grin is so wide that is throws Ianto off kilter. The man - Jack - seems to radiate light, the only light in the grey Welsh atmosphere. All Ianto can do is gawk. He dumbly accepts the man's hand, brain trying to process his words: _Jack Harkness. Gwen. Lost._ Jack signals somewhere to the left of him. _Toshiko. Owen. Friends._ Ianto spots two slim figures in the half-mist, they're arguing in a way that long-established couples do and then the jigsaw slots itself into place. Toshiko and Owen, Gwen and Jack. Two couples. He looks down and catches sight of the matching gold bands on Jack and Gwen's fingers. _Oh,_ Ianto thinks. 

Ianto finally snaps himself out of his haze, realising that an uncomfortable silence had encased them. He sees the key in Jack's hand and holds out his own palm. An offering of help. He holds the key up to the light that seems to come from Jack, that he knows he must be imagining. 129, it says. 

"This is 126," Ianto says, "129 is just to the left, follow me."

Their caravan is directly adjacent to Ianto's, the knowledge that Ianto will be able to see into their window from his own caravan follows him. He tries to break away from the pair, to walk a few strides in front, but Jack catches up.

"You know this place well then?"

"I spent the summers here as a kid. Rode around here on my bike so much that I've committed the place to memory. It's the first time I've been back in fifteen years."

Jack grins at him again and Ianto has the urge to punch him. If he wasn't wearing that stupid, stupid grin, maybe Ianto wouldn't be as distracted. Jack goes on, pearly teeth on show, "what brings you back?"

It's friendly chit-chat, Ianto knows and yet he still feels unnerved, like he's being interrogated. It's not like he's got anything to hide though, if only his life was that interesting. He toys quickly with inventing something, making up some lie to impress this handsome stranger and falters, he's never been the bravest, "I'm a writer. I'm writing a sci-fi novel at the minute - or trying to, at least. I came out here for a bit of peace and quiet." 

They stop outside the door. The woman, Gwen, shoves herself between him and Jack to get to the door.

"Well good luck," she says, interrupting slightly, "Jack and I better get going, work to do and everything-" 

Her hand clasps around Jack's wrist, tugging him into a room that is identical to his own. The door is slammed behind them and Ianto stares a moment at the closed door, taking everything in. Then he trudges back to his own caravan, huffing as mud splatters up his moccasins.

That night, he writes of a mysterious man, fog masking clear, almost translucent skin and dark, dark hair. The protagonist of his novel takes a very familiar shape, also donned in a long trench coat but noticeable absent of a small, Welsh wife. Ianto does feel a twang of guilt, stealing so obviously and so completely off the stranger in caravan 129 but the paragraphs appear out of nowhere. He's never had a bout of productivity like this. Inspiration seems to leak from his fingertips, the words falling into place without him even having to process them.

He's starting to think the caravan was a grand idea after all when shouts disturb his work flow. He's used to these voices now and stops to listen in: perhaps he could garner even more inspiration. Ianto can't hear anything clearly, so tries to resume his work instead. The shouts grow louder, and distractingly so. The two couples he encountered earlier seem to be marching in circles, their conversations echoing from all sides of the room. For the fourth time, Ianto forgets what he was about to write. It's only then he finally snaps and marches to the biggest window. He spies the woman who wasn't with Jack - Toshiko, if he remembers correctly. She's holding a piece of equipment that's glowing green and is emitting lines like a heart monitor. Her partner is in the distance, holding a device similar to her own. For a moment, Ianto wonders if they're ghost hunters. Certainly looks like the stuff from those crap tv shows he used to watch. Ianto thinks too highly of Jack though, and dismisses it. He opens the window, ready to shout at the woman to keep it down because _some of us have a career this bloody holiday is resting on!_ Ianto's even got his angriest frown on, the one usually only reversed for the worst offenders. He glares at the woman and opens his mouth, ready to realease his pent up rage when a figure comes into view from the sides. It's that stupid stranger again with that same stupid, lopsided grin that makes Ianto utterly helpless. He feels all the anger suddenly drain from him, because who could stay angry with a face like that? Jack waves at him, mouths a big 'sorry' and Ianto _lets him_. He stands there dumbly and nods, gawking like a fool until Jack is completely out of view. This holiday was definitely not a good idea.

Ianto tosses and turns in his sleep. The audio book he's listening to (Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: more inspiration for his novel), is drowned out by those bloody strangers. It's clear they're at least trying to whisper, but it's the bold thump of boots, the clicks and beeps of their technology that keep Ianto up. If there's something Ianto can't stand it's inconsiderate people, but then again _who are they disturbing?_ The caravan site is near deserted this time of year - it's only Ianto who's losing sleep. He grunts and throws himself into his pillow. Useless. It's clear he won't be able to sleep until they stop so he goes back to his laptop, opens his work up. He rereads through his musings, now finding the romantic hero Ianto described _too_ perfect. Ianto sits on the sofa, making a few edits, adding in some unbecoming characteristics for his protagonist. The voices finally die down in the early hours of the morning and Ianto lets out a deep breath. He dreams of Jack Harkness, who doesn't seem so perfect now that he’s keeping Ianto up at 3am.

Ianto wakes up late and it throws his entire schedule off. Luckily, his neighbours seem to have disappeared when he takes a glance into their window. Ianto doesn't get much done and ends up discarding his laptop to flick through the tv channels. There's nothing of substance on - there never is - but Ianto settles on a nice property show. He spends a while like that, in front of the tiny television set with his coffee. His thoughts keep wandering to Jack, though, to Gwen and Jack, Jack and Gwen the happy couple. Ianto quickly realises he's brooding and hates himself for it. He feels like he's driving himself crazy in this dingy little hut, the need for fresh air forcing him up onto his feet and out of the door. 

Ianto takes a stroll down to the pier. The stalls and shops are all shut this time of year, with no tourists around. Ianto feels a strange sense of loneliness crawl up his skin, suddenly hyper aware of how far away he is from another human being. When he reaches the edge of the pier he sits, dangling his legs out and over the water. The sea is dark and choppy. It makes Ianto feel miserable: the sea is dismal, the pier is dismal, the whole town is dismal and so is the rest of Ianto's holiday. 

The walk home is even more depressing. It begins to rain on and off, Ianto's thankful he brought his raincoat with him. He's nearly back when he crosses a pub, lingering outside for a second. He wonders if it's too early to start drinking. Ianto didn't bring his phone out with him so he can only glance up at the sun for a vague idea. It doesn't really help but at that moment the heavens open and rain begins to hammer down. That makes up Ianto's mind for him and he steps inside, seeking refuge in the warmth of the pub.

Ianto heads straight to the bar, the dryness in the back of his throat becoming more prominent now that he can see bottles lined up against the wall. He orders a pint of larger, drumming his fingers against the bar’s surface as he waits. The drink is slid to him, hints of froth tipping over the sides. Ianto’s just about to turn around and find a seat when there’s suddenly a cool hand on his lower back and a familiar voice in his ear. It takes Ianto a few seconds to place it, but when he does, he feels stupid. Of course it’s him. It could never have been anyone else. 

“Ianto, isn’t it?”

_You remembered,_ Ianto thinks.

“Yes,” Ianto says.

“Jack Harkness.” 

_As if I could forget a word from those pretty lips_ , Ianto thinks. He shakes the hand that is offered to him. The hand is cold, almost soothing against Ianto's flesh, Jack's smile betrays the slightest hint of those white teeth and there's a twinkle in his eye. Ianto's heart speeds up. He blames it on the alcohol. Ianto stays silent. 

Thankfully, Jack is a talkative man and launches into a diatribe about the history of Penrhyn Bay. Ianto keeps up with a few small nods and chuckles, where appropriate. Mostly, he blocks out what Jack is saying in favour of following the movements of his mouth, mapping the features of the other man’s face. 

One pint of larger becomes two, three. Ianto thinks he could listen to Jack all night. 

“You look tired,” Jack says, all of a sudden.

Ianto knows it’s true, he could feel his frame drooping beside the bar but found it easy enough to ignore in Jack’s company. He opened his mouth, realising now would be the perfect time to voice his complaints about the noise, to make sure he’d have a decent kip for the next few days. Ianto can’t seem to get the words out though, unwilling to criticise Jack. 

Instead he goes with, “I couldn’t sleep last night. I don’t know why.” 

If Jack knows what Ianto’s hiding, he doesn’t show it. He just gives Ianto a devilish grin and leans in close. His lips are so near to Ianto’s ears that Ianto hears his soft breaths as loud as pants. 

“Must be the weevils,” he says, and leans back.

Ianto suddenly feels very empty. All he can do is stare dumbly up at the other man and reply with a questioning tilt of head, “weevils?” 

"Big, ugly things. Teeth like vampires, skull twice as big as a normal humans, eyes sunk into their sockets. Nasty too, rip out your throat if you get too close." 

Jack's staring at him whilst saying this, biting his bottom lip in a way that makes Ianto's head spin. He's not having the greatest time digesting these words and where another man might leave, might protest, might laugh or ask more questions, Ianto sits and says, "Oh." 

"Oh?"

"I'm not very well acquainted with the folklore of this area. Interesting though, Cardiff mostly have faeries and other bog-standard stuff as their claim to fame. Never heard of weevils but they sound interesting enough. Might use them in my next book."

"Book?" Jack smirks, like he's just uncovered something he shouldn't. He hasn't pushed Ianto for any personal information and the other man didn't seem keen on offering. It usually didn't bother Jack. He preferred things to be quick, impersonal. Now, he found himself eager to know more about Ianto. To know everything and anything about the man he met last night.

"I'm an author," Ianto began after draining the last of his pint, "Science-Fiction mainly, which is why I'm so interested in your weevil things. I've hit a bit of a writer's block recently."

Jack shifts the bar stool closer to Ianto, knees knocking together. Ianto feels warmth from the other man's body bleed into him, running through his veins. It's more of a liquid courage than the alcohol. Jack's touch seemed to embolden him and he leans closer to Jack, wanting more.

"Well," Jack whispered, tone low and voice hushed. His lips hovered over the shell of Ianto's ear. Jack's breath hitting Ianto's neck makes his vision hazy, "I've got a story or two I could tell you. Weevils aren't the only thing that haunt Penrhyn." 

"Yeah, I'm sure you and your daft mates wandering around in your trenchcoats at 2am give the kids a right scare," Ianto says. He's not sure where it comes from. There's a hint of malice in his tone - perhaps it's because he's still bitter about the lack of sleep. Maybe he just needs to break the tension between the two. Ianto regrets being so insulting, but Jack just laughs. He laughs, throat exposed to Ianto. Ianto thinks of dragging his teeth across that pretty piece of skin like one of Jack's monsters but quickly stops himself when Jack catches him looking.

"I really think you need an early night. One that my daft mates won't disturb. Come on." 

Ianto tries his best to scream _No! Please, let me spend more time with you. Let me spend the night with you. I will hold on to your every word, I'll speak as much or as little as you want. I will be yours. Just don't let the night end so quickly, before we've even had a chance to begin._ Of course, all he says is: "Ok."

Jack is half-way through pulling on his coat when Ianto hops out of the seat. The larger seems to have taken it's toll though because just as he's safely on the ground his legs buckle from under him. He's about to crash to the floor when a pair of strong arms catch him, pulling him up to face full of Jack's chest. He's not complaining. Well, he is when Jack pulls him away, chuckling. Ianto mumbles something disparaging about the alcohol and Jack dismisses it, laughing again. Ianto's able to walk fine, it was just a misstep at the bar. Jack knows this but he still loops his arm around Ianto's waist, makes Ianto lean his head into Jack's neck as he supports him up the winding roads to the caravan. 

They don’t make conversation on the way back, Ianto is much to occupied by all the places he is touching on Jack’s body, and all the places Jack is touching him. He’s only just registered the feel of Jack’s body on his when he looks up and there is the caravan, the end to their little outing. Ianto makes his way up the steps but can’t help turning around for one last glance at Jack before he opens the door.

Jack is staring back up at him, eyes blown wide. There’s a look of eagerness, a fire that Ianto can’t interpret. He just stands there, trying sneak his way into Jack’s mind for any clue at what the man might be thinking. The very fact Jack is still standing there, Ianto thinks, patiently waiting for something must be a sign. It takes a bit of fumbling with the key to open the door but when he manages it, it swings right open. Ianto steps inside, turning back to Jack from the shelter of his hovel. There’s that same patient gaze that rests on him, and only him. 

“Come in,” Ianto says. He feels confident. 

As soon as Jack has stepped over the threshold, the door is shut with a bang. Ianto moves to the kitchen counter, just about to offer him tea when Jack’s hands rest on either side of him. Jack has him trapped against the counter. Ianto is scared to look at the other man, scared he’ll do something he shouldn’t. Then Jack’s fingers cup his chin, forcing him to look in the murky depths of Jack's pupils. Ianto feels like he’s drowning but he doesn’t want to come up for air. The atmosphere around them feels charged and Ianto doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to do anything, just wants to stay here on this precipice, wanting and being so close to having. 

Before he knows it, Ianto is kissing Jack. He tastes honey and alcohol on his tongue, and nothing has ever felt this sweet. Jack is pliant and willing under his touch, parting plush lips for Ianto. Jack scraps his bottom lip with his teeth and Ianto can hear his heavy breathing fill the tiny room. He has to stop for a moment for breathe right away, the kiss taking him off guard. But he makes up for it, chasing those lips once more, opening himself to Jack, letting Jack’s tongue map every inch of his mouth. 

Suddenly, Ianto is hyper aware of every piece of clothing they have on: too much distance, he thinks. He wants to feel Jack’s skin under his touch, wonders if he’ll feel electricity if he runs his fingers up Jack’s spine. It’s this train of thought that leads Ianto to stick his palms up Jack’s shirt, then moving more carefully to work at the buttons. 

Cloth parts under Ianto’s touch, soon the both of them are only clad in their trousers. Ianto thinks the kitchen is much too formal a setting for what is about to happen and kicks open the door to his bedroom. The bed is a single, with minimal space between the bed and the wall. The small space seems to heighten their every movement as they fall onto the bed, lips still attached. They end up as a tangle of limbs, both unsure where they end and the other starts. Ianto unbuttons a fly and is unsure if it’s Jack’s or his own. Soon, the trousers too are discarded and Jack’s got a hand around his cock, pumping slowly as the tension builds around them. Ianto doesn’t try to suppress the moan that builds, mouth open and pressing wet, lavish kisses on Jack’s collarbone. 

"Faster," he whispers, and Jack laughs. That glorious, head thrown to the sky chuckle that makes Ianto's brain flat line. All he can feel is wantwantwant, a deep, persistent need for more. Jack leans back, drinking in the sight before him. Ianto: naked, flushed, exposed.

"You're gorgeous," Jack says before Ianto has a chance to complain. It works, stunning the man into silence with Jack's sincerity. Ianto is still searching for more though, so Jack lowers his head to kiss the tip of Ianto's cock before trailing his tongue along his length. Ianto wants to say something back, to compliment him too, to try and convey to Jack how utterly in love he is in this moment - with a complete stranger, no less. But red-hot lust clogs his throat, and all he can do is thread his hands through spools of hair that feel like heaven, hoping his tugs and thrusts convey what words can't. When Jack comes back up, he's looking up at Ianto through hooded lashes, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. It's now Ianto's turn to whisper, "angel," before biting at Jack's wet, plump lips.

When Ianto comes, Jack's the one that shudders, moaning as he ruts up against the other man. He follows soon after, and then the caravan goes quiet. The men are still panting - Ianto is spellbound by the heavy rise and fall of Jack's bare chest - but the silence is still profound. So much so that Ianto suddenly remembers the bigger picture: caravans of people all around him, walls that are paper-thin and Jack's wedding ring, on a hand that was around his cock not so long ago. He slept with a married man, within hearing distance of his wife. Ianto fights the urge to sit bolt upright, to shout, or scream, or cry, maybe. He can't do any of that without disturbing the toasty weight of Jack on his chest, already snoring. At that moment, the sleeping man tugs Ianto closer, trapping him in a bear-like hug. Ianto is flooded by the sense of warmth, comfort, home. It makes him discard every worry he's been dwelling over and lets himself be happy in the hear and now, mouth pressed to Jack's skin as sleep takes him.

Ianto wakes up alone. He can still feel Jack in the room, his presence, the remnants of what they did. The scent still lingers and Ianto can't help but turn his nose up, spurring him into action. He changes the bedding in less than five minutes. Cleanliness is an art, he knows. Ianto even clicked the kettle on before hand, so it boils just as he's finished. Sipping his morning coffee, he peaks indifferently out of his window and stops still. Because there's Jack: fresh, gleaming, grinning. He's also leaning next to Gwen, temples almost touching as they laugh at something on Gwen's phone. Ianto manages to pry his eyes from the scene before either of them spot him snooping. The coffee now feels bitter on his tongue, indigestible. He sits down, under the window and squeezes his eyes shut, praying that the nausea that had begun to build up would eventually subside. Ianto Jones, who could organised and compartmentalise every one of his thoughts, could not explain what currently clogged his mind. Jack was married, and it seemed happily so. _Not happily enough,_ though, Ianto's brain supplies. And did he love Jack? Of course not - not yet at least, but that 'yet' meant everything to him now. Those moments, so few, in the bar and in his bed, seemed more treasured than anything he'd experienced in years. Ianto was jealous of Gwen, angry at Jack for going back, for hitting resume on his probably very normal, domestic life. Ianto wondered if he was one of many playthings for Jack, and Gwen, well Gwen-

Ianto sighed. He was thinking himself into circles, trying to make sense of something that could never be made sense of. He needed familiar things now: routine, normalcy. So, Ianto opens up his laptop and resumes his typing. Soon, the antagonists of his plot had morphed into large, dark creatures: weevils, Jack had said. Ianto's villains had a name. Ianto's eager to search for more information, trying a quick google search which turns up nothing. A few clicks and he finds online archives from Penrhyn's local council. There's mentions of typical Welsh fae and such, but no weevils. Strange, he thinks. 

He faintly considers Jack might have lied to him, or maybe he’s dabbling in creative writing too. Ianto dismisses these thoughts, resolving just to bring it up with Jack later. If there is a later. 

And there is, it comes just before dinner and strides into his caravan without knocking. Ianto’s mouth falls open like a carp, because Jack’s holding a picnic basket, gingham cloth covering the top. It’s all very Enid Blyton, and Ianto wonders if cucumber sandwiches and ginger beer lie inside. He suppresses a snigger, and just smiles, just smiles at Jack because that’s the only thing he ever wants to do. 

“Picnic?” Jack questions, raising an eyebrow. 

Ianto tugs at cord connected to the blinds. The blinds shoot upwards, exposing a comically grey Penrhyn. Just to add to the effect, rain begins to spatter at the window. 

“Indoor picnic?” Jack prods. 

Ianto laughs once more, _how long as it been since he was this happy?_ He accepts the cloth from Jack, moving the small rug and table so there’s enough room to spread it on the floor like a blanket. He turns around to bring over plates but finds Jack already rummaging through his cupboards. It feels awfully domestic, like they’re lovers and not each other’s one night stands. 

It’s not exactly the feast he imagined. The sandwiches are plain ham, messily made - not even cut up into triangles! But Jack’s brought ice cold bottles of beer, so Ianto doesn’t complain too much. 

They eat in companionable silence, not even bothering to blush when one catches the other staring. Once the sandwiches are finished with, the pair made idle chat to get through the beers. Jack tells him he lives in Cardiff, and Ianto grins at that - he’d been living in the same place as some one like Jack all his life and their paths have never crossed. Jack’s vague when Ianto prods him further, hoping, wishing that Jack could be a few streets away. 

Jack doesn’t budge though and Ianto soon gets restless around all those unwashed plates. Jack watches him closely as Ianto makes his way to the kitchenette, rolls up his shirt sleeves to his elbow, hands submerged in the soapy water. Jack is so transfixed by the sudden show of flesh that he can’t help heading towards Ianto. He takes the other man by surprise, pulling him into a loose embrace as Ianto tries his best to keep concentrating on the dishes. He moves his hands up Ianto’s body until he’s got a good enough grip to undo the top buttons of Ianto’s shirt. Jack peels the cloth away so he has a vast expanse of skin on Ianto’s neck to mouth at, to peck and tug and nip. Ianto keeps washing up, not even flinching. He’ll just have to try harder, Jack thinks as he bites Ianto hard just above his collarbone. Ianto lets out a clipped moan in response, certain they’ll be a sharp imprint of fangs on his skin when he looks.

Fangs. Something clicks inside Ianto’s mind.

“Jack, where did you hear about weevils?” 

Jack goes silent, his grip on Ianto’s hips tightening.

“I told you, it’s just local lore,” he says finally.

“But I’ve checked — and so far it’s turned up nothing.” 

Ianto turns around to face Jack, and Jack cradles his face in his hands. Ianto searches for any sign of nervousness, and sign that Jack might not be being truthful. Instead, Jack’s smiling happily at Ianto, confident. Too confident.

“Must’ve been a tale I heard when I was younger or something, I can’t remember specifics.” 

“Ah. Ok.” says Ianto, because what else can he? 

There’s a strange atmosphere around them, something Ianto can’t work out. For a moment he thinks Jack might leave but Jack is Jack, who chooses to deal with this by pulling Ianto close. Suddenly there’s a hand working his fly open and a mouth back on his neck, pressing sloppy kissing to the bite marks.

But Ianto’s mind is running like racehorse, trying to interpret what Jack has said, trying to find a way all the strange things about Jack added up. He thinks and he thinks and he thinks so incredibly much in that split second that he just can’t help asking:

“What would your wife think about this?” 

Jack pulls away, and Ianto thinks he’s about to cry. Or laugh. Or- well, he’s not sure really. The look is blank.

Then Jack speaks, “my _what?”_

And then Ianto’s angry, furious in an instant. He tugs Jack’s hand up sharply, squeezing his fingers against the cool metal of his ring.

“Don’t play the idiot Jack, not now.” 

Jack does laugh at that, further fuelling ianto’s rage. He’s about to snap, to tell Jack this thing between them’s over, that the guilt has been poisoning him endlessly when Jack speaks first.

“Oh, god. No, no, no... Gwen’s just my _pretend_ wife.”

Ianto thinks he could strangle Jack’s pretty white neck right now. 

“Gwen and I just pretend to be married and so do Tosh and Owen for our, well, our _missions_.” 

Jack’s about to carry on when Ianto interrupts, wanting to get this over with.

“Is this a sex thing?” he whispers cautiously.

“What? No!” Jack says, a giggle dying on his lips, then a pause and, “do you want it to be a sex thing?” 

“No!” 

“Anyway, well, it’s a sort of uncover thing, like MI6.” 

“You’re spies?” Ianto mocks. Sure Jack may have the physique for it, and he can certainly pull of the ruggedly handsome Bond look, but Gwen? Tosh? Owen? They didn’t seem like the type. 

“ _like_ MI6, not MI6.” 

“So what then?”

Jack sighs, takes a step back. Cold air hits Ianto and Ianto fights the urge to pull Jack back close and never let him go. Jack’s all of a sudden turned quite solemn, standing and staring in Ianto’s eyes, searching for something. 

“Can I trust you, Ianto?” He says, and it’s softer than anything he expected from Jack, a hint of nerves and trepidation coming through. Ianto nods firmly. He wants to say _I would die for you. How can you ask that? How can you not know? I'd walk to the ends of earth if you asked me to._

This time, he says exactly what he wants to. It takes Jack by surprise and Ianto thinks he sees a hint of a tear in Jack's eyes.

Jack sits him down, takes Ianto’s hands in his, leaning into the other man.

“Ianto, have you ever heard of an organisation called Torchwood?” 


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i initially published this, i had no plans for a second chapter but the response has been so nice that i decided to write a little follow up! this is a thank you for all your lovely kudos and comments! i've been a torchwood fan for years, but this was my first torchwood fic and i look forward to posting more in this fandom.

Ianto's apartment seemed twice the size since his holiday. It could even be classed as spacious when compared to the cold, close walls of the caravan. But the mattress he wakes up on is still hard and unforgiving, and his nice bathroom mirror exposes the deep creases under his eyes. Each morning he carries out the same routine. Gets up, plods to the bathroom, splashes cold water on his face and stares at himself for a good few minutes. Penrhyn feels like a lifetime ago, but he still hasn't processed it fully.

*

_"Jack, I walk by the docks every Saturday, it's right next to the Costa. I think I'd notice if there was a organisation that traps big, creepy monsters there."_

_Ianto is shaking. He doesn't even try to hide it, knows that he can't. He had trusted Jack so implicitly, and now he'd found out that the man he slept with was some kind of lunatic. Jack's look is sombre, a kind of sadness in his eyes that comes from trying to change someone's very way of thinking, by questioning the things they've been taught all their lives._

_"It's hidden, we've got sophisticated masking technology. Can't let just anyone wander in, can we?"_

_Each time, it takes Ianto a little while to respond. It's a lot to process in one go, and he's finding it hard to form words. Jack is soft and kind: he waits, doesn't pressure Ianto to speak._

_"You're not one of those guys in tin foil hats are you? You don't believe the government is full of lizard people?"_

_Jack chuckles, gently, warmly. Ianto almost feels drugged, narcotised under the other man's gaze._

_"They've tried, but they're not very good at electioneering. I think one might have been Transport Secretary."_

_Ianto considers forcing a laugh. Was that a joke? He's too afraid to ask. Suddenly his limbs feel very heavy, and the air around him is a great weight. He is so, so tired, Ianto realises, he doesn't think he could ask any more questions if he tried. Jack's palm is open, reaching for him but stopping. It wavers, half way there, fingers curling. He's going to reach out, maybe, Ianto thinks. He braces himself for Jack's touch, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. But the touch never comes and Jack is stopped by a buzz from his pocket. Jack leans back, away, to take a call. To Ianto, it feels like Jack is further away from him than ever._

_Ianto doesn't have the energy to work out what they're saying. He registers a female voice, Gwen, or the other one, he thinks. Their words become more heated, Jack is whispering fiercely down the phone, protesting. Ianto closes his eyes. If he didn't have such an awful headache right now he'd probably fall asleep._

_Jack comes back._

_"I have to go, Ianto."_

_"Don't," Ianto replies quietly, half-hoping Jack doesn't hear it. He's ashamed of himself for being so vulnerable, so open about his feelings. There are voices outside the caravan that become louder and louder until they're right outside his door. Ianto sees shapes, colours behind the frosted glass door but can't work out who it is. He assumes it's Jack's entourage - Torchwood, Jack calls them. Jack is eyeing the door and Ianto wants to say_ Don't _again, wants to beg Jack not to leave him. He doesn't. Jack goes to kiss Ianto, but Ianto moves his head to the side at the last moment. Jack's lips brush against his jaw and it sends shivers up Ianto's spine. Jack's touch burns. Want floods Ianto's body but he forces himself to pull away._

_He lets Jack's mouth rest against the shell of his ear. He lets Jack's breath - minty fresh - hit his skin. He lets Jack whisper, "don't forget me." He lets Jack leave, the sound of the door shutting behind him leaving a void inside Ianto. It'll be a long drive home, he thinks._

*

Ianto's been pushing those memories down since he got back. It's only been a few days and Ianto's struggling to get back into a routine. His writing remains untouched, the laptop cold on his desk. A thin layer of dust coats the top; Ianto leaves it. His publisher must've sent him a few angry emails by now, maybe he's even lost the contract. He doesn't care.

Breakfast is porridge: plain, lukewarm. Ianto doesn't register the taste as it slides down his throat. He spends another morning in front the tv, watching mind-numbing property shows. He doesn't take any of it in, mind drifting to other things. Jack. Torchwood. Weevils. It made him nauseous.

The property shows end, and the mid-day antiques shows begin. When he guesses the price of an Eastern vase correctly and then has an argument with the woman on the tv over whether or not a bowl is Moorcroft, Ianto knows he needs to go outside. He forces himself up and into the shower, keeps the shower on cold to punish himself, maybe. He considers the sweatpants, the baggy jumpers in his wardrobe. Only for a moment, before going back to his pristine suits. He has appearances to keep up. Ianto selects a crisp, navy shirt, plain black trousers. Nothing too fancy. Today he'd like to fade into the background.

Ianto heads out. It's 2pm, Huw will still be on shift at Costa, he thinks. He'll be wondering why Ianto hasn't turned up early, like normal. Someone might even have taken his seat by now, he's sure that'd make Huw uncomfortable. Ianto's okay with being a little later too, takes the long route so he doesn't have to walk past the docks. Ianto wants to get this monster nonsense out of his mind. He wonders if Jack was just a dream, a lurid hallucination brought on by lack of sleep. That'd be an easier truth to face.

"Where've you been?" Huw says, the corners of his mouth upturned. He smiles pleasantly at Ianto, and for the first time in a while, Ianto feels calm.

"Sorry, it's been a bit hectic lately."

"I made you a mocha, with almond milk just the way you like it when I clocked on, but you never turned up. It's gone cold now but I'll make you another."

Ianto tries to look apologetic. He doesn't know if it works.

"You're a saint, Huw." 

Huw laughs, then his smile drops, "Where's your laptop? You haven't forgotten it again have you?"

Ianto had forgotten, Huw was right. But he wasn't eager to jog back home to retrieve it, like he normally would be.

"Thought I deserved a bit of a break. Enjoy my coffee, read the paper, y'know."

"Ianto Jones?" Huw exclaims, so loudly that a few of the customers raise their heads. "Taking a break? I don't believe it. Even your holidays are work holidays. How was Penrhyn? I heard the beach is lovely down there. And the girls aren't too bad either."

Ianto can't help but choke out a laugh, devoid of any real joy.

"You didn't get off with someone down there, did you?"

"No!" Ianto protests, but the blush that is spreading through his cheeks gives the game away.

"Oh my god, Ianto! Didn't think it was possible. What was she like, eh?"

Thankfully, Huw puts the coffee down then, the sound halting the conversation. Ianto takes the coffee, mumbles a small thanks and moves away from the counter, hoping that Huw will drop the subject.

He feels a presence behind him, footsteps inching closer and closer. He's just about to turn around and tell Huw to get lost when the presence speaks.

"What _was_ she like, Ianto?"

Ianto gulps. The tray jerks violently under his hands, coffee splashing out of the mug. Warm, strong hands encase his own, steadying him.

"Easy there," the voice says.

It's him. Ianto knows, of course. Part of him knew straight away. It could have never been anyone else.

Ianto frees himself from Jack's grasp, makes sure his hands are steady on the tray, then walks away. He heads towards his normal seat in the corner of the cafe, his back towards Jack. Ianto's reluctant, scared almost, to look at Jack, because then this becomes very, very real. In this moment, he can still deny it's really Jack, even though he could recognise that voice anywhere: it's the voice that's haunted him every night since he returned. The moment doesn't last though, and Ianto is forced to take his seat, forced to face Jack.

"Are you here to convince me that there's faeries at the bottom of my garden?" Ianto asks, eyes on his coffee, on his napkin, on his feet, looking anywhere but at Jack.

Jack takes Ianto's hand in his. The other man's palm is smooth, pliant under Jack's touch. Ianto doesn't have it in him to pull away. Jack squeezes the hand softly, convincing Ianto to look back at him. It makes Jack a little breathless when Ianto does: there's pain in Ianto's eyes, clearly tormented by what Jack did to him and how Jack left things. It crushes Jack, a little bit, to see the effects of his recklessness. Jack picks up Ianto's other hand, trying to convey what he feels with his touch because saying what he really, truly means has always been difficult for Jack. Trying to explain things to Ianto will be a struggle, but Jack knows it's the least Ianto deserves.

"I want to apologise. I shouldn't have left you like that, Ianto, with all those questions running through that pretty head," he begins. Ianto frowns a little at the word 'pretty,' confirming to Jack that he can't flirt his way out of this scenario, "It was wrong. Tosh's equipment picked up signs of weevil activity in a busy area just outside of Penrhyn, so we packed up and left. I was thinking about Torchwood and not about you, and that was wrong. Because the truth is, Ianto, you were more than a one night stand to me. I can't get you out of my head. And I think, if those bags under your eyes are any thing to go by, you feel the same."

"I can't-" Ianto interjects, but pauses straight after. He doesn't know what he wants to say. He wants to protest but can't find the words or the reasoning. He waits for Jack to resume. Instead, Jack looks at him, with a kind of pity in his eyes. Ianto wants to bash his head against the table. Hard enough to forget all of this would be best. He tries again.

"I can't think, I can't sleep, I-"

Words have always been Ianto's skill, he could create entire worlds within a few paragraphs. That's why it's so painful, not being able the find the right ones. All Ianto can feel is pure frustration, words clogging up his throat and making his eyes sting. In response, Jack brings their entwined fingers up against his own cheek, kissing the back of Ianto's hands.

"Oh Ianto, lovely, lovely Ianto. I've been horrid, haven't I? Filling your head with these ghastly monsters and then leaving you. It's never easy, the explanation. You know, I thinking of coming back to retcon - to remove your memories of meeting me, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't face losing what we had. I shouldn't have told you about Torchwood, but I did. And I can't just go half-way. I've told you and now I need to show you. Will you come with me, Ianto? Will you try to trust me again?"

Jack's face is raw and open and vulnerable. What else Ianto say to that face, except "yes." 

Jack gets up and Ianto follows him, leaving the still hot cup of coffee at the table. He stops at the counter, letting Jack wait outside so he can say goodbye to Huw. Ianto doesn't want to talk to him, not really, he just wants this situation to be over with. Whatever 'this situation' is - Ianto's still trying to work that one out. Nevertheless, Huw is cheery, and it puts Ianto at ease.

"So you did have a fling down in Penrhyn!" Huw exclaims, "Can't believe you were thinking of hiding it from us!"

Ianto smiles as naturally as he can manage. The last thing he wants is a heated discussion. He can feel Jack's eyes on him, through the glass.

"Good for you! You'll have to properly introduce us at some point. Have a nice day with your new man, Ianto."

Ianto visibly relaxes, relieved Huw's taking this so lightheartedly. Ianto smiles again, but this time it's a real, full smile, and reminds himself to give Huw a huge tip next time. After mumbling a small thanks, he rejoins Jack outside the cafe. Ianto knows where Jack is leading him, he could walk this route blindfolded, he thinks. They don't speak. There's nothing really to say, nothing that wouldn't bring up more questions, nothing that would satisfy Ianto until Jack comes up with answers.

Jack sticks his arm out, hand resting on Ianto's stomach. Ianto stops and takes a glace around. He can see the sea from here, the water laps rhythmically, calming Ianto. There's not much else of note, the shopping centre isn't far away and there's a few restaurants littered here and there. Regular old Cardiff. Ianto doesn't understand what's so remarkable about this place, he looks up at Jack, confused.

In response, Jack moves his hands to Ianto's shoulders and guides him a few steps backwards. It's almost like one of those trust exercises Ianto was made to do in drama class, except Ianto thinks he's never trusted anyone as much as he trusts Jack now. His head is spinning and his thoughts are clouded: at this point Ianto knows it's best to not think at all, to succumb under Jack's touch. A few steps back and Jack stops him. Jack moves closer, into Ianto's space. They're close now, noses centimetres apart, breaths mingling. Ianto notices that Jack's eyes match the sea in the distance. It makes him a little dizzy. He wonders if this was all a ploy, just so Jack could steal another kiss from him. As his gaze drops down to those lips, bringing up the memory of _that_ night, Ianto thinks he wouldn't care. He wouldn't care if this turned out to be a lie, if Jack was crazy, if Torchwood was just a fabrication, Ianto wouldn't care as long as he got to feel those lips against his once more. Jack leans in, and Ianto opens his mouth slightly, ready. Instead, Jack moves past his mouth in order to whisper in his ear.

"Hold tight," he says.

How could Ianto turn down that offer? He doesn't think, just embraces Jack, hands spread over Jack's back. Suddenly they're moving, the tile they're stood on lowering into the ground. Ianto wobbles then grips Jack tightly, nails digging into the thick fabric of Jack's coat. Jack laughs. Half way down, Ianto's brave enough to take a look. He wishes he hadn't. They're suspended in mid-air, waiting as the stone inches closer to the floor. Ianto's too concerned about falling and breaking a limb to take in his surroundings. It's only when they're on firm ground again that Ianto really looks around. It's dark, musty and a little grim. He spots Owen and Tosh behind adjacent computers, looking up at him with only the mildest interest. Ianto looks at Jack, trying to to find the words. He points at the stone that has begun to rise again, putting itself back in its place.

"Can't you put some railings on that bloody thing? That's got to violate quite a few health and safety guidelines."

"Torchwood isn't so fond of health and safety guidelines."

"Of course you aren't," Ianto mutters to himself, following Jack to the middle of the room.

There he's properly introduced to Owen and Tosh. Owen just nods his head at Ianto, like this happens all the time, and returns to his frantic typing. Tosh is more welcoming, actually stands up and shakes Ianto's hand.

"I remember you," she says, and Ianto smiles. He likes her, she's a little too friendly but he can see that her heart's in the right place. Ianto found it funny how he'd seen her as almost a frightening figure in Penrhyn, in the dark with all her equipment, stalking around the caravan as she twisted and turned different dials on her contraption. There was nothing scary about her now: she was kind and her handshake was firm. Ianto had immediately warmed to her.

Jack goes off to find Gwen, disappears down a dark staircase. Ianto feels alone without his presence. Owen doesn't seem up for some chit-chat, so he turns to Tosh.

"So, er- do you like working here?" he manages, only because it's the first thing that crosses his mind.

Owen snorts from behind his computer, and Ianto doesn't know how to take that. Tosh pulls a face that Ianto can't quite decipher and changes the subject.

"You're good for him, y'know," she says, it takes a second for Ianto to realise she's talking about Jack, "Since Penrhyn, he seems happier. Lighter. Like he's finally free. Don't you agree, Owen?"

"To be fair, he hasn't had a go at me for dumping the Donovan case files on the side yet. Think he even put them away himself in the end. And if that carries on, we better keep you around, um-"

"Ianto."

"Right."

There's an awkward silence that Ianto struggles to fill until Jack comes back. Gwen is following him, she has the same indifferent look on her face as Owen, though she does come over to introduce herself. Pleasantries are exchanged, short and straight to the point. Before they can lapse into another silence, Gwen asks if Ianto's been given a tour of the place. He doesn't know if he wants one, the whole idea of him sticking around hasn't really sunk in, none of it has. But Jack tugs him by his sleeve, with that smile that makes Ianto do anything, anything to keep it there. Something tells Ianto that Gwen meant for her to join them, but Jack gives her a menial task, makes sure she's out of sight before he begins to lead Ianto. They walk up some stairs, across railings and Ianto's beginning to think that this is more of a dungeon that a competent working environment. Then, he's in an office. It's horribly dark, stacks and stacks of boxes fill each corner, there's paper and rubbish everywhere. If Ianto didn't know better he'd guess there'd been some kind of explosion. He feels unclean just being in this room, and fights the urge to run and find some soap and water to begin sponging the grime off every inch of the room.

"Here's my office," Jack says, almost like he's proud. Ianto loses a little bit of respect for him when he spots the stack of pizza boxes under the desk. He's not sure how to respond.

But then Jack's hand is on his waist and Jack's leaning in close and yes, Ianto _does_ knows how to respond to this. The windows are dim and he's certain the rest of the group can't see them, so he kisses Jack quite firmly, gasps a little as Jack's mouth parts against his. It's familiar in the best possible way. Ianto has missed this. Still kissing, Ianto pushes Jack backwards until Jack's back hits the desk. He lifts Jack up, with a strength he never knew he had, so Jack is perched on the end of the desk. Jack's mouth moves to Ianto's neck as he undoes the top button of Ianto's shirt. Jack licks and nips and _bites_ , and it's one strong bite that has Ianto grappling for something to anchor himself to. His fingers search the desk, finding something then tipping it over, cold, thick liquid coating his hand. It makes Ianto jump back, shaking his hand as Jack scrambles to find something to mop it up with. Ianto just stares at the polystyrene cup lying on the table.

"How long has that coffee been there? God, Jack, there's mould on it."

"Oh, uh, yeah," Jack begins, throwing a box of tissues to Ianto, "It gets pretty busy. Not enough time to clean up or brew up."

Then there's a sparkle in Jack's eyes. Ianto raises an eyebrow, ready to shoot down whatever ludicrous notion Jack's about to spout.

"How well can you make coffee?"

That takes Ianto by surprise.

"Marginally."

"Any experience with filing?"

"None at all."

"You'll learn. You're hired."

Ianto wishes there was a part of him that wanted to resist. There isn't. He allows himself to grin at Jack, so wide his cheeks ache.

"When do I start?"

***

Ianto blinks. Sleep is still heavy on his eyes, tempting him back to bed. His hand reaches to the bedside cabinet, trying to grab at where he vaguely thinks his phone is. Ianto's fingers curl around the sides, turning it on to reveal the time.

"Shit," he whispers, "late for work."

"I'm sure your boss won't mind."

"It's my first day."

"Your boss is very, _very_ lenient."

Ianto laughs at Jack and cards his fingers through the dark head of hair that rests on his chest.

"In that case, come here."

He tugs Jack up and wraps his arm around Jack's waist. Jack hums warmly, resting his back against Ianto's chest. Ianto presses lazy kisses onto the nape of Jack's neck, entwining his fingers with Jack's.

"I'm glad I kept you around," Jack says into the darkness, right before sleep claims him again.

It's not _I love you_ , not exactly, but Ianto understands the sentiment, understands how hard those three words are to say.

When he hears light snores from Jack, only then is Ianto confident enough to whisper, "I love you too," against Jack's skin.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> find me on tumblr: @mandelsons


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